f of boughs and leaves overhead ran a very long old country-house,
cottage-built. Surpassingly peaceful, and secluded was its air. It had
oblique-angle-faced, shingled gables, and many windows with thin-ribbed
blinds; and a high bit of gallery. On one hand near it, under the hugest
of the trees was a cool, white, well-house of stone, like a little
tower. I remember vividly the red-stained door of that. On the other
hand, a short distance off, commenced the capacious pile of the barns.
Close at the back of the house ran a long wooded hill.

It was the ancient Manoir of Esneval--the Maison Blanche.--one of the
relics of a feudal time. As we drove in and our wheels stopped, a little
exquisite girl stood on the gallery, looking. Her child's face eyed us
with wonder but courage for a few moments; then she ran within and, to
the pang and regret of my heart, she appeared no more.

The little, brave face of the Manoir d'Esneval haunted me, child as I
was, for years.

CHAPTER V.

CONFRERIE.

McGill University sits among her grounds upon the beginning of the slope
of Mount Royal which lifts its foliage-foaming crest above it like an
immense surge just about to break and bury the grey halls, the verdant
Campus and the lovely secluded corner of brookside park. It owes its
foundation to a public-spirited gentleman merchant of other days, the
Honorable James McGill, whose portrait, in queue and ruffles, is brought
forth in state at Founder's Festival, and who in the days of the
Honorable Hudson's Bay Co.'s prime, stored his merchandize in the stout
old blue warehouses[D] by the Place Jacques-Cartier, and thought out his
far-sighted gifts to the country in the retirement of this pretty manor
by the Mountain.

[Footnote D: NOTE--Now turned into the restaurant called the "Chateau de
Ramezay," and soon probably to be demolished.]

To that little corner of brookside park it was often my custom to
withdraw in the evenings. The trees, little and great, were my
companions, and the sky looked down like a friend, between their leaves.
One night, at summer's close, when the dark blue of the sky was
unusually deep and luminous, and the moon only a tender crescent of
light, I lay on the grass in the darkness, under my favorite tree, an
oak, among whose boughs the almost imperceptible moonbeams rioted. I was
hidden by the shadows of a little grove just in front of me. The path
passed between, about a couple of yards away. Every str